Musings on a January Morning

It is true...for me, anyway. Anger, unhappy, and frustration take a lot more energy than acceptance, peace, and calm. The first three definitely have their time, place, and value. I just don't have the energy for passion in a blog this week. Trust me...my sisters are well aware of my passion topics I'm queueing up for my posts. But...it's January, it's winter, it's been snowing for going on 24 hours, this is my busy time for work (I write for my job so writing in my off hours can seem overwhelming), and I don't want to get worked up. Even for something constructive. So...what I have been thinking about this morning is an excerpt my friend Mike texted me last week from Rules of Civility by Amor Towles (highly recommend). The passage stated much more eloquently than I could ever begin to, some things I have been noticing and mulling around in my head and heart.

"My father was never much one for whining. In the nineteen years I knew him, he hardly spoke of his turn in the Russian army, or of making ends meet with my mother, or of the day that she walked out on us. He certainly didn't complain about his health as it failed.

    But one night near the end, as I was sitting at his bedside trying to entertain him with an anecdote about some nincompoop with whom I worked, out of the blue he shared a reflection which seemed such a non sequitur that I attributed it to delirium. Whatever setbacks he had faced in his life, he said, however daunting or dispiriting the unfolding of events, he always knew that he would make it through, as long as when he woke in the morning he was looking forward to his first cup of coffee. Only decades later would I realize that he had been giving me a piece of advice."

When I read this passage, I felt tears coming to my eyes. Because I have known the feelings surrounding that cup of coffee...literally and figuratively. I do wake up in the morning, excited for my coffee. On vacation, of course...the thrill of finding a new little coffee shop...soaking up its energy and ambiance. Savoring the smell and color and taste. Or sitting near the water with a mug in my hand, feeling and breathing the air, relishing the luxuriousness. During the holidays, waking up to coffee in the kitchen with my family, warm and lively and shared. At home, too...I love getting out of bed and selecting a coffee mug that feels special and reminds me of people and places I've been. I love the smell and warmth of the coffee. I love it when my husband makes my coffee for me and brings it to me in bed, seeing which special mugs he picked out for the day. I can vividly recall the excitement these cups of coffee awaken in me. I feel like a queen or a goddess or love and I feel giddy.

I also remember how it feels when that sentiment is missing from my life. When I'm so sad and lonely, heartbroken and confused, that the coffee doesn't matter. Nothing seems to matter. This is part of my warning system. This is when I know something needs to change, something needs to be addressed; I need to change or accept or grieve or communicate...or all the things. It's a frightening realization - and a reminder that I want make it through so I can get back to myself - a reminder that there is some lesson I'm to learn. That the excitement for coffee in the morning is more than a feeling - it is a way of being in this world. It is something to fight for, to make my way back to. And that can take a long time - this past fall was consumed by my struggle to get back to my coffee feeling. At times, I felt like I didn't care if I got back to the coffee feeling - and it scared me. And then, one day after what seemed a long time of tears, angst, soul searching, internal and external hard work, I was excited for my coffee again.

There are other "cups of coffee" in my life...starting a new book, going to Drake Diner, going on a bike ride, cooking and baking, putting gifts together for family and friends, being sent a quote and knowing that someone is thinking of me. If we are fortunate, we all have them. In my experience, these every day treasures are to be carefully guarded and when those feelings go missing, it's my internal alarm system saying, pay attention. You're going to lose something here if you're not careful. And I am the only one who can make my way back to my cup of coffee.

The passage goes on to say, "...when a person loses the ability to take pleasure in the mundane - in the cigarette on the stoop or the gingersnap in the bath - she has probably put herself in unnecessary danger. What my father was trying to tell me, as he neared the conclusion of his own course, was that this risk should not be treated lightly." I have felt that danger many times in my life. It scares me. So far, I have been able to make it back to that cup of coffee. And when I do, I feel joy, relief, love and gratitude. Here's to our cups of coffee - may they remain a meaningful presence in our lives' journeys.

Pip

As I mentioned in my last blog, someday I am going to write a book about all the lessons I have learned through my children and how they can be applied to “grownup” problems. Here is another vignette for you until then.

Often, I talk with my sisters about calling people out on their bullshit or when they do something for which they need to be held accountable. It would not be a rare occasion for us to get fairly spirited saying something like, “yeah, call that *expletive* out!” Additionally, in a recent workplace training on creating a compassionate work environment, I answered one of the instructor’s inquiry on how to do so by saying that people who do not act in compassionate ways should be “called out.” 

More recently, however, I attended a training for my victim advocacy during which the facilitator was talking about how we should work to not call people out but rather to call people in. This portion of his talk really struck me. It made sense to me in the way that he explained it and even just thinking it through in my head but I did not really see it in a real-life example until my four-year modeled it…

One night during this last month Larry and I were arguing and nitpicking with each other after a long day at work. Who the hell knows what it was about. It was probably something silly and due to the stress of the year, the pandemic, the holidays, who knows. We never argue in depth in front of the kids but for small disputes, we have never hid the fact that we have disagreements. 

After dinner, I took the kids up for a bath. I think Larry was taking longer than normal to come upstairs to assist and so LJ asked me where he was. I told him he was taking a long time because he was “being a pip.” A pip is our word for being a little irritable or difficult to get along with for the moment. LJ did not ask any more questions and instead said, “I’m going to go get him.” He went downstairs, got him, and stayed by his side the rest of the night. As soon as he brought him upstairs he asked to read a book with him and said, “I love you, daddy.” It is a bit difficult to put into words because in writing this it somewhat just sounds like typical four-year-old behavior. But it wasn’t – LJ was calmer and sweeter. You could tell that he knew that daddy was being a pip and probably needed extra attention instead of just being “called out.”

As an adult, I would have and was tempted to tell him to hurry up and get his bum upstairs and to quit acting like a pip! My four year old knew better – often when someone is “acting out” they need more attention. And when someone does need to be “called out” on their behavior, you may get a better response if rather you “call them in”…or upstairs to snuggle, read a book, and tell them that you love them.